


Trust Fall

by Moit



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:37:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir takes his younger brother on a routine trip to secure the borders of their lands, but when he becomes injured, it is Faramir who must take the leading role.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galadriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/gifts).



> I know I didn't hit quite all your request points, and I took this in a different direction with slightly different elements, but I really hope you like it!!

Boromir took great pride in patrolling the borders of Gondor, as it was one of the many duties assigned to the Captain of the White City. It should have come as no surprise to his father, then, when Boromir announced that he would be taking his younger brother with him this time.

 

“My son, this is foolishness. He is hardly out of diapers. How can you expect him to wield his own sword should you find yourselves under attack? Think of the consequences. You would be defending not only yourself but your brother as well.”

 

In truth, the child spoken of was a wiry young soldier just come to manhood. He possessed even the shadow of a beard upon his jaw.

 

Though Denethor’s treatment of his younger brother was old news, it nevertheless put Boromir on the offensive. “He can defend himself. He is not a child anymore. I am taking him, and that is that.”

 

Boromir snatched up his gloves and stormed out of the room.

 

Sneering, Denethor turned to Faramir. “If you do anything to put him in harm’s way, you had better make sure you die; otherwise, I will see that it happens by my own hand.”

 

Always calm in the face of his father’s disdain, Faramir nodded once, sharply.

 

*

 

The company set out early the next morning. Boromir led the men out of Minas Tirith with Faramir at his side—to keep an eye on him. The last thing either of them needed was for their father to hear about trouble along the way.

 

Winter had begun to creep into the air, and the day was crisp and cool. Leaves littered the ground, leaving the trees bare. Soon, snow would slow all human lives and force them indoors.

 

Faramir was glad to be given this opportunity to roam outside the walls of the city. He was also anxious for the opportunity to prove himself a capable soldier.

 

The men were quiet. Whether that meant they had nothing to discuss or were keeping information from him, Faramir did not know. Smartly, he remained tight-lipped.

 

They made camp at sundown.

 

Faramir pulled his horse to a stop with relief, but as he prepared to dismount, Boromir called his name.

 

“Follow me. There is something I wish to show you.”

 

The protest from his thighs made Faramir sigh with want for a rest from his horse. “Where are we going?”

 

“You will see.” Boromir allowed a rare smile to ghost across his lips.

 

They veered off the path and into a denser area of the wood. Their horses’ hooves clapped softly through the leaves.

 

Twilight had nearly engulfed them by the time they stopped next to an abandoned cabin.

 

Boromir dismounted, and Faramir followed suit. He hadn’t been on his horse in a while. His legs would need a good stretch.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Something I’ve wanted to show you for a long time.”

 

The structure in front of them hardly stood for the rotting boards and holes in the roof. A small critter scuttled out a side wall as the brothers approached.

 

“Our mother used to bring me here . . . before.”

 

<i>Before she died giving birth to Faramir.</i>

 

He had to choke down the grief that threatened to overwhelm him.

 

“There’s not much left, anymore, but it’s . . . “

 

“Something,” Faramir finished for him.

 

They shared a look and passed between them the love and understanding that only brothers share.

 

A sharp crack broke the silence, and both men reached reflexively for their weapons.

 

“Stay behind me,” Boromir ordered. Sword drawn, he stepped lightly toward the direction of the noise.

 

Faramir hardly had an opportunity to take two steps before Boromir bellowed, “Orcs!”

 

A second later, five of them came barreling out of the tree line. The horses spooked and took off towards the camp.

 

Boromir squared off with three of the orcs, leaving his brother to the other two.

 

Fighting for the first time was terrifying, but Faramir had been preparing for this his entire life. He was ready.

 

Sword clenched tightly in both fists, he struck out with a snarl. His first swing went too wide, allowing one of the orcs to rush him. Reflexively, he slid out of the way and brought his blade down with a sickening crack that embedded it in the orc’s shoulder. Try as he might, Faramir could not retrieve the sword.

 

With the other orc advancing, his only option was to reach for the hunting dagger in his boot.

 

The orc growled. “I’m going to gorge myself on your flesh, boy.”

 

Faramir’s face hardened. “Not if I can help it.”

 

He struck out several times, but the orc deflected each of his blows. They continued to circle one another.

 

“Give up now, and I’ll let your friend live.”

 

“I think not.” Boromir’s voice came out of nowhere. He landed atop the orc’s broad shoulders and slashed its throat. The creature died with a look of surprise imprinted upon its ugly face.

 

“I could have handled that myself,” Faramir insisted while trying to avoid sounding like a petulant child.

 

“Is that so?” Boromir walked to the other fallen orc and pulled Faramir’s sword free with one hand. Flipping it around, he offered his brother the hilt.

 

A snarky reply was on his lips when Faramir noticed the arrow embedded in Boromir’s shoulder. “You’re injured.”

 

Boromir brushed him off. “It’s nothing. We need to get back to the camp.”

 

Darkness had settled around them, and the nightlife of the forest had begun to come alive. Despite his insistence that he was fine, Faramir could hear Boromir’s increasingly labored breath with every step they took.

 

As they passed the dilapidated cabin, Faramir took control of the situation. “Boromir, you will not make it like this.”

 

“I’ll be . . . fine . . . little . . . further.”

 

Faramir sighed in frustration. “The horses are gone. With you like this, it will take nearly an hour to get back to camp. We cannot risk it.” Clutching at Boromir’s good arm, Faramir held his brother’s eyes. “Please. Let me care for you.”

 

Begrudgingly, Boromir allowed himself to be led inside the ramshackle old cabin. The interior contained naught but a pile of musty blankets in one corner and a table and chairs so rotted through that they could no longer stand on their own legs.

 

With Boromir’s arm slung over his shoulders, Faramir helped him settle atop the blankets. The smell of mildew and dust assaulted their senses.

 

“Sit—just sit here. I’m going to build us a fire.”

 

The holes in the roof provided a natural chimney to ensure they wouldn’t burn the cabin down or smoke themselves out.

 

Using his sword as an axe, Faramir began to hack the table and chairs into smaller, manageable pieces so he could pile them into a proper fire.

 

It took several tries and a mountain of confidence, but Faramir managed to make a spark. Ignoring the heavy sound of his brother’s breathing in the dark, Faramir blew gently on the spark until it grew into a fire.

 

Minutes later, he could see Boromir’s face illuminated by the flickering flames.

 

“Now you,” Faramir said, allowing his voice to come out like a breathy sigh.

 

In the dim firelight, he could see the dried blood surrounding the entrance wound. That was a good sign.

 

“It went through,” Boromir said, squinting into the darkness.

 

Faramir could see the arrowhead sticking out of his brother’s back. “This is probably going to hurt.”

 

“Do it.” Boromir shoved a leather-covered fist into his mouth.

 

Using his dagger, Faramir broke the arrow clean in half. Boromir gave a muffled scream as the movement ripped pain through his shoulder.

 

“Hang on, Brother.”

 

With as much strength as he could muster, Faramir pulled the arrow backwards out of Boromir’s flesh. It came free with a wet squelching noise and a fresh gush of blood.

 

“That should keep it from getting infected.” Reaching down, Faramir cut a length of fabric from his tunic and used it to staunch the flow at Boromir’s shoulder. “Hold there,” Faramir said as he pressed Boromir’s hand to the wound, “at least until we get the bleeding to stop.” He cut another strip of fabric and pressed it to the exit wound. This side, at least, seemed to be bleeding more sluggishly than the front.

 

“You saved me, you know.”

 

Faramir scoffed. “More like I got you into this scrape. Had I not been here—“

 

“Those orcs would have overtaken me.”

 

His brother has never been short on praise, though their father would have it otherwise. Denethor would trade Faramir for their mother had he the chance. Come to think of it, he would probably sell Faramir to slavers if he thought he could get away with it.

 

“I think the bleeding has stopped back here.” When he lifted his hand, Faramir could not feel any fresh blood. Sitting back on his heels, he regarded his brother. “We’ll have to wrap it.”

 

Boromir met his eyes. “I’ll need help removing my armor.”

 

“Of course.” With trembling hands, Faramir unclasped the three buckles that held together Boromir’s coat. The gloves and gauntlets Boromir removed himself. All the garments would need to be repaired when they got back to the city. Faramir removed his own cuirass and shirt so he could fashion the latter into a bandage for Boromir’s shoulder.

 

“You always take such good care of me,” Boromir said.

 

Faramir pursed his lips. He pressed the back of his hand against Boromir’s forehead. “You’re feverish. I think you should lie back.”

 

“Lie with me.”

 

Unease squirmed in Faramir’s stomach. He helped Boromir relax as much as possible against the musty pile of cloths. It would have to do until they could meet up with their party in the morning.

 

“Come here.” Boromir wrapped his hand around Faramir’s wrist and tugged.

 

Despite his better judgement, Faramir allowed himself to be pulled against his brother. “I should stoke the fire.” It had dwindled to embers.

 

“I’ve a fire for you.”

 

“You’re delirious,” Faramir said, ignoring the thundering of his heart. “It’s the fever. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

 

“I do.” Boromir placed a sweaty hand in the middle of Faramir’s bare chest. “Brother mine, you have been the only constant in my life. Do you remember when Father tried to arrange a marriage between Èowyn and I to unite the kingdoms of Rohan and Gondor?”

 

Faramir did. Boromir had turned down the offer by insisting that he focus on training to defend the White City from her enemies. It had nearly led to war between the two kingdoms.

 

“I turned Èowyn down because my heart already belongs to another.”

 

“A woman in Minas Tirith?”

 

“No.” Boromir’s hand moved up to cup Faramir’s cheek. “The person who has stayed by my side at all times. It is you, my dear brother. You are the one who owns my heart.”

 

“It is the fever,” Faramir said. “You should rest. I will keep watch until morning.”

 

Eyes trained on his brother, Boromir laid his head down.

 

“Sleep,” Faramir said. He stroked a hand down Boromir’s bristled cheek.

 

*

 

As the first rays of dawn cut through the cabin, Boromir groaned. Faramir checked his forehead. The fever seemed to have broken during the night.

 

“Where am I?” Boromir asked, pushing away from his face a moth-eaten blanket. He started to sit up, but clutched at his shoulder in pain.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Boromir grunted. “Like I got shot with an arrow.”

 

“We should get back to the city.”

 

Both their horses and the men were eagerly awaiting the brothers’ arrival at the camp.

 

As a company, they mounted and headed for home.

 

Faramir longed for a bowl of stew and the comfort of his bed. A hot bath wouldn’t go amiss, either.

 

They breached the gates of Minas Tirith shortly after nightfall and left their horses in the hands of stable boys.

 

Boromir sent one of his men to give word of their return to Denethor while he and his brother set out for the Houses of Healing.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go see Father?” Faramir asked.

 

“I would have you with me.”

 

Obedient as ever, Faramir followed.

 

Ioreth clucked her tongue in disapproval when she saw Boromir’s wound. “Several centimeters to the left would have seen you dead.”

 

Boromir grunted. “I have no need for a reminder.”

 

“You are fortunate it was wrapped properly.”

 

A quick glance at Faramir had him ducking his head in embarrassment. Of course he had wrapped the wound well. Boromir was his brother.

 

With quick, confident movements (some that made Boromir groan in pain), Ioreth packed his shoulder with a poultice and changed the dressing. The scraps of Faramir’s clothing she threw away with an indecipherable look on her face.

 

“You’ll need new clothing, young master.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

The old woman sighed. “All right, off with you two! Boromir, I expect to see you tomorrow so I can fix a new dressing and have a look at you. Be sure not to get the bandages wet, and for Arda’s sake, try to avoid using that arm too much until it heals. Otherwise, you’ll just be prolonging the process.”

 

The brothers left the Houses of Healing chastised, but light of heart.

 

Upon their return to the Citadel, Boromir bid Faramir follow him once again.

 

“But Father—”

 

“Never mind him. I would have a bath.”

 

Boromir sent one of the housemaids to retrieve hot water. When the basin was filled, Boromir began to unlace his breeches. It was difficult to do much more than that with his injury.

 

Taking pity, Faramir helped his brother finish undressing and sink into the basin.

 

“Be still,” Faramir said, staying Boromir’s hand.

 

With the sponge, Faramir began to wash the injured warrior before him.

 

“I mean it, you know,” Boromir said as he leaned forward so Faramir could wash his back. “When I said that my heart belongs only to you. I do not expect you to feel the same, but I want you to know that it is . . . true.”

 

The silence between them grew thick. When Faramir spoke, his voice was soft and pinched. “And if I do?”

 

With his good hand, Boromir reached across his body and took ahold of Faramir’s arm. Had it not been for Faramir’s reflexes catching himself on the lip of the basin, Boromir would have pulled him face-first into it.

 

Nose to nose, they stared at one another.

 

Boromir surged forward, sloshing water over the edge of the basin. He caught Faramir around the back of the neck and jerked him forward into a bruising kiss.

 

“We can’t—” Faramir said when they came up for air.

 

Boromir’s expression was vulnerable. “I beg you not to deny me that which has been offered.”

 

“Your bandages.” With great caution, Faramir’s fingertips skidded over Boromir’s injured shoulder.

 

“I will heal. For now, I would have you help me out of this damn tub so I can kiss you properly.”

 

“At least let me fetch you a towel. Can you stand?”

 

In a fluid movement, Boromir rose to his feet. Water sloshed from his skin, and an impressively erect manhood was revealed to Faramir’s gaze.

 

Averting his eyes, Faramir wrapped the towel around his brother and took his arm to help him out of the tub.

 

Boromir took advantage of Faramir’s concentration and began to place soft, open-mouthed kisses against his collarbone.

 

Somehow, Faramir managed to land them in bed together without jostling Boromir’s shoulder too badly.

 

“Why do you tease me?” Boromir grumbled as Faramir adjusted the blankets over them.

 

“Because I wish for you to be fully mended when we consummate our love.”

 

At Boromir’s look of surprise, Faramir reach over and pushed his jaw shut. “You’ll catch flies.” Grinning, he pressed a kiss to Boromir’s mouth.

 


End file.
